


I Could Care Less (Merry Christmas)

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Christmas, Fighting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick likes to be drunk a lot, and Joe doesn't enjoy it very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Care Less (Merry Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

> It's a few days until December... you know what that means. SAD CHRISTMAS FANFICTION ALL 'ROUND FOLKS!

 

Patrick takes a agonizingly long drink from the bitter, malty, sour taste out of the bottle of God-knows whatever he ordered. He doesn't even drink for the taste anymore, not for the buzz, not for the euphoric haven he gets out of one-too-many; he just drinks because that's what he does now. He comes home from the studio around six, texts his boyfriend Joe, and then drinks at the bar. It's autopilot for him. He doesn't think about the way the warm booze would slide down his throat, doesn't think about the room spinning when he wakes with a start, he doesn't think about anything. He just  _does._  He's pissed off a few people already, Andy, mostly; who, despite his animalistic attitude on stage and hardcore-esque personality, has a bad past with alcohol, and hates when Patrick replies to his question with 'sorry, at the bar! :)'. He also made his family angry, but right now, Patrick was too drunk and tired to think about that. Joe hasn't been talking to him much recently. He would text him that he wouldn't be home until late, because Patrick was going to the bar, per-usual, but Joe would never respond, and by the time Patrick came home, he was already asleep in the bed.

And with that thought, Patrick takes another drink.

With Christmas coming up, the only thing that would interrupt the ESPN football game on the flatscreen that hung above the bar, were commercials involving snow, hot cocoa, and pine trees. Not that Patrick doesn't like Christmas; he  _loves_ it, in fact. He owns about three ugly sweaters, in fact - none that he'd wear in public, but he enjoys the nostalgia of them. As some sort of country-sounding Christmas song came on the radio, Patrick remembered Joe and him hanging up the Christmas tree. Patrick had bought the tallest one they had, and had to have Joe help him carry it in. Thank fucking christ the ceilings in his house were high, because the tree would  _not_   have fit otherwise. They turned off all the lights in their house as they hung the rainbow colored lights, putting on their personalized ornaments as well as some bulbs. He remembered the way Joe's eyes lit up as Patrick plugged in the lights, everything bright and shiny; the way Joe smiled, saying, "Patrick, it's perfect!" with a laugh. No gift-wrapped present, Christmas ballad, or snowstorm could ever amount to how much Patrick was in love with Joe. But that didn't stop Patrick. He left work early a couple days ago and walked into the jewelry store, looking like a lost, cold puppy. Of course, it was pouring snow outside, but that didn't stop Patrick. With the help of a worker, he picked out a (as the worker called it) silver-with-black-accents ring, and had it personalized and shaped. He had inside the ring carved with, 'More than love will allow', which was what Patrick had told him when confessing his feelings.  _"I will love you more than love will allow."_   He planned on proposing on Christmas, as awfully cliche as it was. But he couldn't help it, Patrick loved a good cheesy, kiss-in-the-rain story, and Joe deserved the most romantic of propositions. 

But, it was Christmas eve, and Patrick was thinking about how to do it. He'd come up with this plan, he'd wait for Joe to open the gift, and then go down on one knee, but that seems a little less than what he wanted. Of course, he couldn't have fucking fireworks go off, that's insane; but Joe deserved so much better than that. Patrick had already planned on cutting short his drinks tonight, as he was already way too dizzy, and he didn't want to propose with a hangover.

As he reminisced on what he'd do, he heard the slight chime of the door being opened, but he didn't bother to look. Too lost in thought, staring at some commercial telling the viewer to buy their gift products, he only snapped out of thought when he felt a gloved hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his boyfriend, and soon-to-be-fiance, Joe. Patrick instantly stood up and smiled at the plum-haired man, giving him a big, unrequited hug before saying, "Hello!"

"We need to talk," Joe said, disregarding Patrick's introduction. With an eyebrow raised, he stared at a still-drunk-still-happy Patrick. The man had a jacket pulled tightly to his frame, but his arms were crossed, staring down at Patrick like he was evil. Patrick didn't think he was doing anything wrong, or  _had_ done anything wrong, but he knows that look; the look Joe gives their rottweiler puppy when he tracks mud in the house, or the look he gives Patrick when he ends up letting his sim die in their game - the look of sheer, unfaltered disappointment. Patrick went through what he's done differently the past couple of days, and he couldn't find a reason Joe could hate him. Did he forget to feed their dog? Did he not wish him a happy birthday - or, oh God, what if it was their anniversary?  _Couldn't be,_ Patrick thought,  _they got together early summer._ They went on a trip to Hawaii two summers ago and got blackout drunk and Patrick confessed his feelings to a completely-sober Joe, he remembered it clearly. Then, he started feeling unnecessarily pissed off for some reason. It may be the booze, but Patrick suddenly had many angry thoughts go through his mind about Joe. He'd done  _nothing_ wrong, how could Joe be so pissed off for no reason? Patrick assumed Joe just thought he was doing Satan's bitch-work or something, because he hadn't done a thing to insult him. 

"What did I do?" was Patrick's drunken response. It was probably too incoherent over the sickly-sweet Christmas music that played above them, causing girls to sing and dance in the sticky-floored bar, and giving disgusting men some sort of pleasure out of it. When Joe opened his mouth for a moment, trying to find words, then shut it, Patrick rolled his eyes, crossing his arms to match his annoyed stance. "Did I breathe around you? So sorry," he laughed a bit, grabbing his beer off the counter, and taking another gulp of it, leaning against the hardwood bar.

"You're, like, so fucking stupid." Joe said, grabbing Patrick's beer and ripping it from his hands, putting it back on the counter. Before Patrick could protest by grabbing it again, Joe grabbed the arm that was reaching for the alcohol, making Patrick's eyes widen at the sudden hostility - he was only having fun! The way Joe held his forearm was extremely tight, making the skin on his arm around Joe's hand turn pale white to match Joe's knuckles. The fingertip of his thumb pressed into his tendons and veins in his arm, sending a jolt of pain to his shoulder.

"Woah, what the fuck are you doing? That hurts," Patrick retorted, trying to pull his arm closer to his body, but the man's tallness and build made it nearly impossible to outsmart him. Patrick's mouth hung open, ready to yell if he needed to, but not wanting to cause a scene. Joe reached up, making Patrick flinch, as if ready for impact, but as Joe saw this, his grip loosened a bit, but not enough to let Patrick slip away. Joe reached behind him and grabbed Patrick's coat, then began to pull him along with him out the door of the bar, the chime sounding louder and more ear-piercing than a normal, happy chime. Patrick thought it was nearly funny how your perspective changes on whether or not you were hated or loved by the person you love.

"Exactly," Joe replied as the door shut behind them. Patrick followed unwillingly behind, pain still radiating from his arm. There was snow falling all around them, and Patrick felt a shiver of cold run down his spine. He was wearing only a long sleeve shirt, nothing more. Joe held his coat.

"Can I atleast have my jacket?" Patrick asked, voice lowered as people walked by them. Joe stopped in place, turning around to face him, and then let go of his arm. The release from the unbearable pain of his fingernails was breathtaking. He quickly pulled his arm back, cradling it. Patrick then snatched the coat from Joe's hands, fumbling, and then pulling his arms through the sleeves, taking a deep breath as the warmth filled his body. His breath puffed in a cloud of steam, showing how cold it was. Joe watched him carefully, his mahogany eyes staring at the smaller, brown-haired man. "What do you want to talk about?" Patrick finally asked the award-winning question. Joe seemed to feel upset by the drunk stuttering that spilled from Patrick's blue, cold lips. Joe's sad, brown eyes disappeared, staring at the snow-covered concrete.

"You're drunk," he said simply. Patrick then proceeded to let out a loud laugh, putting a hand on his chest and tossing his head back as if he thought it was the funniest shit ever. Then he returned to normal, staring at him with amused eyes.

"That's what you're angry about?" He breathed out, still laughing a bit. Joe hesitated, and then nodded. Patrick raised an eyebrow, suddenly a  _lot_ more pissed off. "You nearly tore my fucking arm off!" He shouted, causing Joe to flinch slightly. "You can't be serious! Really, Joe?! You think you can fucking-"

"Yes! Yes, really!" Joe shouted back, head suddenly high, staring down at Patrick with cold eyes that sent shivers down Patrick's spine, taking a step back that was only matched with Joe taking one forward.  "You're such a fucking dick sometimes! I can't believe you! I can't believe how fucking  _stupid_ you are sometimes!" The words spilled from Joe's lips made Patrick sober up quicker than a fucking slap to the face. He held his breath, as Joe screamed in his face. "You don't even come home for dinner! You just leave the studio and come straight to your shitty fucking bar! I'm your  _boyfriend,_ Pat! You don't even take the time to ask me how my day's been! Did you know I got fired? Did you?!"

"Woah, w-what?" Patrick interrupted him. Joe worked in an office from five in the morning to five in the evening, filing forms and contracts for Patrick's company. Though they work for the same managing corporation, they work in two different branches. Joe had the job long before he knew Patrick, that's how he got his job as a solo artist, releasing Soul Punk and others. "What happened?"

"They fucking found out I'm dating you!" He shouted louder, with a look of disappointment in his eyes. "They told me that office romances weren't fucking good, but it's bullshit! They just didn't want me there because- because I'm-" Patrick wasn't sure if Joe had stopped himself because someone across the street was staring, or because his voice started cracking. Joe ran a hand through his plum hair, cursing under his breath. A moment of silence past, of just Patrick staring at a furiously shaking Joe.

Finally, Patrick decided,  _fuck it, it's a Wednesday, I'm gonna break the silence,_ and asks, "are they going to fire me?"

Joe raised his head and stared at Patrick, much more angry than before. "You are, like,  _so_ fucking selfish sometimes, Patrick. I don't know. I hope they do, you arrogant  _fucking_ prick!"

"Hey, don't say I'm the only one at fault here! You do shit I don't like, either!" Patrick tried retorting, but his drunken slur made it quite difficult.

"I can't," Joe said, fists clenched. "I can't do this anymore! You need to leave! I'll move out, I don't give a fuck, I can't do this anymore! It's done, we're over," He practically screamed, making Patrick's breath suddenly stop. His surroundings suddenly spinned as he began to lose balance, putting a hand on a brick wall beside him to keep himself straight. He took a few steps back, staring at the snowy ground as he felt like vomiting. "Did you fucking hear me, Pat? It's over!"

"I was going to propose," Patrick said quickly. This visibly took Joe by surprise, but anger took over the shocked expression on his face quicker than Patrick wished.

"Well," Joe said, staring at the shaking, drunk man below him, clenching his jaw, "Throw away the fucking ring."

Joe eventually wandered off, probably to go pack his bags, take their dog and leave. All he knows is that Patrick woke up in an alley, drunk, and feeling sick the next morning.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two days. Patrick spent  _two days_ at a bar, sleeping in an alley or wherever place that looked comfortable outside, and then walking straight back in when he woke. The worst part was trying to explain to the bartender why he'd decided to spend what money he had on booze, especially on Christmas day, because 'a man only drinks like that if he wants to kill a man, or kiss a girl'. Patrick couldn't explain it, just leaving him with 'you don't wanna fucking know' before ordering another drink of whatever he wanted.

When Patrick finally returned, he took a shower, fed the dog, and went to the kitchen to get a drink of the booze he had there. Just grabbing the bottle of whiskey and opening it, he took a long drink, and stumbled into the living room, half-clothed, staring at the unlit Christmas tree.

Something caught his eye just as he was ready to sit down. Underneath the tree, there was a folded sheet of paper. Patrick quickly set the booze down on the carpet, falling to his knees and drunkenly sliding his way over to the large tree. He picked up the letter and roughly opened it, tearing it in a fit of hurry.

 

_you owe me the best gift I will ever ask for._

_merry christmas, I could care less._

_-joe_

 

And Patrick stared at the note for a long time. He could die there, he couldn't fucking give a shit anymore. He imagined his body decaying, causing flowers to bloom in his ribs. The way Pete would come in, yell, cry. Start a vigil in his honor, the news headlines blaring how well-loved he was. The way Joe would feel fucking guilty as hell over him, over the death of his boyfriend and should-have-been fiance. He imagined the way people would grieve, the gravestone, the flowers and condolences. It was pleasing.  _Good to know if I ever need attention I can just die,_ Patrick thought. As his tears dripped from his chin and onto the sloppily written letter, Patrick thought twice about his life and it's meaning. The fact he would die of alcohol poisoning that night, the fact that the only reason that was holding him back from just dying would be the fact that he'd never see Joe again. But Joe didn't want to see him.

Patrick thought long and hard about continuing to destroy his life.

And with that thought, Patrick took another drink.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was so sad I just tortured myself writing this


End file.
